After
by lightinside
Summary: After Moriarty has been locked away for good, the ways of simple life begin to grow on Sherlock. Settled with Katherine at Baker Street, he finds that family life suits him, but that it is by no means easy. A new set of problems has arisen and though seemingly ordinary, they might change the couple's lives forever. {Unplanned, but unquestioned. Companion piece to 'Shattered'.}
1. Along Came Mia

_**Hi guys! So, the first chapter of After is here! Just so you know, I've decided to do full-length chapters with one-shots in between each one. Or almost each one. I'M SO EXCITED! I actually really can't believe that I'm doing this, but it's too late to go back now. I'm sure you'll find that Sherlock has noticeably changed and I hope that you'll think that it's alright. I figure that after seven years with Katherine, he would have learned how to show affection more naturally than he used to. That isn't to say that he hasn't retained some of his original persona.**_

 _ **Anyway, I hope you like it! I'll be hiding under a rock awaiting your reviews.**_

 _ **(I'm VERY nervous.)**_

 _ **-lightinside**_

* * *

 ** _Seven years after 'the end'..._**

I cracked open one eye to peer at the alarm clock beside the bed and felt my lips stretch out in a sleepy grin when I saw that it was hardly nine in the morning. This was the first morning that I hadn't been rudely awakened by shouting or squealing in as long as I could remember. Saturdays were sacred, as they always had been. Quiet, soft, and uninterrupted. I closed my eyes and snuggled back into the covers, aware of the warmth of Sherlock's still sleeping form as he lay next to me.

A squeal echoed through the flat. The pattering of small feet came rushing down the hall and I huffed a sigh into my pillow. Saturdays had _been_ sacred. And then came our Mia.

"MUMMY!" She shouted, scrambling up the bed frame and onto my back as she giggled. Sherlock groaned into his pillow as her girlish laughter awakened him from sleep. "It's Christmas, Mummy, wake up." Mia insisted, leaning forward so that her dark curls, inherited straight from her father, tickled my face.

"Go open your presents, love." I said, rolling over so that she fell bum first into the narrow space that was between me and Sherlock. "We'll be in there in a few minutes."

My daughter smiled, her small teeth gleaming in the morning light as she shook her head in defiance and crawled onto my stomach, unaware that her sibling was growing there. I smiled up at her and brushed the curls from her small, porcelain face.

"You have to go with me." Mia said adamantly, a trait which I knew she had inherited fully from me. I turned my head so that I was looking at Sherlock's head, still buried in his pillow.

"You heard her." I said, giving his shoulder a light shove. "Time to get up."

"Absolutely not." He grumbled, though his voice was without bite. I knew that it was only a matter of minutes until Mia moved on to manipulating him and he caved with the soft, adoring smile that he only had for her.

" _Daddy_ ," Mia whined softly, throwing her arms over his back as she moved off of my stomach. "Please?"

"Go harass your uncle." Sherlock told her, but I could hear traces of that smile in his muffled voice. "I'm sure he'd love to put down his paper and read to you until we can all open presents."

Mia seemed to be considering this, a mischievous light dancing in her green eyes before she planted a kiss on Sherlock's shoulder and hopped down.

"UNCLE MYCROFT!" She screamed, dashing down the hall like the hellion she was, curls bouncing behind her.

"That was positively diabolical." I said. He only smiled as we both fell silent as we listened, waiting for Mia to go crashing into the sofa and into Mycroft. Even from where Sherlock and I were, we could hear Mycroft groan. The sound sent me into a fit of giggles during which Sherlock turned over so that he could look at me. There was a tenderness there in his eyes that caused me to stop laughing and hold his gaze.

When we'd found out about Mia five years ago, that I was _actually_ expecting after only having been married for a year and a half, Sherlock had taken a few days to come around. Before I even dared entertain the thought to tell him I was pregnant, I'd taken probably fifteen different tests. It wasn't that we hadn't talked about it or that he didn't want children, but neither of us had thought it would happen so soon. I also don't think he expected to fall so completely in love with her so instantly.

But the minute he held her for the first time, something just clicked. Fatherhood wasn't always easy for him, but he'd excelled at it so brilliantly despite his own imagined shortcomings. Watching him with Mia, seeing him smile and read to her and sit down at her pink tea table to be a guest of honor at one of her many parties, it only made me love him more.

"Remind me why we invited my brother." Sherlock requested after I had laid my head on his shoulder. I could feel his fingers in my hair, exploring the tresses absently like they always did when he was especially contented.

"He's your brother." I answered him with a snort. "You know. Blood is thicker than water and all that."

"It's Christmas." Sherlock huffed. "Mycroft is anti-holiday. Anti-everything, really. He hardly even smiles."

"You hate holidays, love." I reminded him. "And you never smile unless it's for me or Mia."

"He's a grouch."

"So are you."

Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Can I _never_ win?"

"When I'm feeling generous enough, you might." I kissed his chin, halting his petulance in its tracks. "And Mycroft loves Mia. He might pretend he doesn't, but do you really think if I had invited him that he would have showed up? Mia was the one who insisted he come. And now he's sitting in our living room."

"Who could help but love her?" Sherlock questioned rhetorically, as if Mycroft's reaction was the only obvious reaction to the extending of Mia's childlike affection. After a minute, he sighed and kissed the top of my head. "We should get up before the rest of the world shows up on our doorstep."

I chewed my bottom lip. "Who all is coming again? Did you invite anyone?"

"No. Who did you invite?"

"Well, Dana called." I said, working through the infinite list of Christmas morning brunch-goers in my mind. "She and Andrew are coming. And she's about three weeks away from having Eli so chances are that Andrew won't be too much of a conversationalist. He'll be too busy worrying after her."

"Good." Sherlock muttered. "I might not have to pretend to be courteous."

I elbowed him in the ribs gently. "Stop that. There's no reason to dislike him anymore."

"I dislike him on principle."

A sigh made its way from my parted lips. "You're such a child." He only grunted his agreement, having heard this statement an infinite amount of times over the last nine years, and allowed me to move on down the list. "Your parents are coming. Your mum phoned me yesterday morning, asking me what she should bring. I told her she should only bring herself, but she insisted, so -"

"Tell me that she is _not_ bringing shepherd's pie." Sherlock groaned. "She's sent more shepherd's pie home with us in the last six months than I ever care to _see_ again for the rest of my life."

I shared the sentiment, but he was just out of luck. "Stomach one more plate."

" _Katherine_."

"Well, I couldn't say no!"

"You don't know _how_ to say no."

"It's your mum, Sherlock. She can be very frightening when she wants to be. Just like you, if you are, in fact, conveniently unaware that you inherited that particular trait from her."

I could feel the corners of Sherlock's mouth curl upward against my forehead. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the rare moment of togetherness we were sharing. Usually it would be around the time he fell silent and decided that it was okay just to be there with me that Mia would come bursting through the door. She didn't and I was grateful for a moment that Mycroft was here to distract her.

"Who else?" He asked me after a while, still running his fingers through my hair. The act itself was about to lull me to sleep. During weeks where he was wrapped up in a case, I hardly saw him. He was chained to the table in the living room pouring over evidence or researching on my laptop because he preferred it over his own, or meeting Molly in the morgue to conspire over his findings.

I hadn't seen much of Molly lately, not since Moriarty had been locked away (for good this time), but from what I'd heard she had finally met someone she could manage going on a date with without calling in backup. She managed it so well, in fact, that when the guy proposed three months ago, she said yes.

"Molly is bringing Thatcher with her. My dad is coming by his lonesome – my mum opted out. I think she's going to see Harry in the States this Christmas instead of coming here. Said that if he won't come home, she'll go visit him and remind him he has a family he needs to see every once in a while. And if I know _anything_ , that means that she'll probably overstay her welcome and come back defeated. And Lestrade said he might drop by for a few minutes. He never did give me a straight answer."

"Mmm." Sherlock hummed in the back of his throat, thinking. "What about Kyle and Breanna?"

Before I could open my mouth to tell him that they were indeed coming, we were interrupted.

"MUMMY!" Mia shouted, "DADDY!"

Both Sherlock and I groaned as we heard her take of down the hall toward our room. Mia jumped on top of Sherlock this time, realizing that she could straddle us both to conduct double the badgering until we dragged ourselves from bed.

"Uncle Mycroft said it was time for you to get up." She told us.

Sherlock turned to me so that he could scowl without Mia seeing. I laughed loudly, unable to help myself, and he turned back to Mia. "We're coming, love."

"Promise?" She asked, poking out her bottom lip in a pout as she stared at Sherlock with those big green eyes of hers that could move mountains.

"Promise." Sherlock told her, tugging on her curls with a smile.

"Then you gotta get up." Mia said.

I fought back a laugh as I watched her push him into consent, realizing that she was too much like Sherlock for her own good. The child was relentless. It would serve her well someday, when she needed that certain kind of strength most.

"We will." Sherlock told her again with a chuckle.

Mia scowled back at him and put her small hands on her hips. "You say that every time and you never do."

"Mia," I said, catching her attention though she didn't remove her hands from her hips. That severe look she'd been giving her father transferred to me. "Is your uncle sending you in here to wake us so he can read his paper?"

The scowl evaporated. "No." She said softly, though she began fidgeting in a way that told me everything I needed to know. I covered her ears with my hands and winked at her so she knew she wasn't in trouble before shouting down the hall.

"DON'T SEND A CHILD TO DO YOUR BIDDING, MYCROFT HOLMES!"

Mia collapsed into giggles, sprawling helplessly across my legs, and Sherlock scooped her off of my lap before sitting up and allowing her to climb onto his back so that she could ride lazily into the kitchen to sit while he made himself a cuppa. He leaned down once she was situated and pecked me on the lips briefly before leaving with Mia, who twisted in his grip just enough so that she could turn and blow me a kiss as she was carried away.

I caught it and pressed it to my heart.

I could hear Mia babbling incessantly from the kitchen, telling Sherlock all about what he'd missed in the thirty minutes since she'd last come to wake us up. The radio in the kitchen was on, playing Jingle Bell Rock, as it always did on Christmas morning, at a low volume. I decided about five minutes later, when the warmth from Sherlock's previous occupancy next to me had faded and I was left to realize that I was now alone and cold and without cocoa (I could smell it from there), I hauled myself out of bed and grabbed Sherlock's robe before making my way down the hall.

"I was looking for that." Sherlock said as I finished knotting the tie at my waist.

I smirked, plucking a cup of cocoa from his hands with a flourish. "You're not getting it back."

He snorted as he turned away to make another cup of cocoa for himself. "I didn't think so."

"Mummy, when is Aunt Dana going to be here?" Mia chirped from her seat in Sherlock's chair. It looked as though it was practically trying to swallow her small form whole, despite the large red blanket that now covered her and took up some of the empty space.

"I don't know, darling. She and Andrew have a very long way to come. They live in the States, you know." I took her a small cup of cocoa and helped her situate her blanket again before drifting back into the kitchen to stand next to Sherlock. Mycroft was reading his paper moodily on the couch, or trying to. His eyes kept darting up as he listened to snippets of the conversation happening around him. I knew he couldn't be getting much out of it.

"Will she bring Eli?" Mia asked.

"Eli hasn't been born yet, sweetheart."

"So that means that she'll _have_ to bring him."

Sherlock snorted into his cup while attempting to take a sip of his cocoa and I could barely stifle my own laughter, but did so to keep Mia from thinking she'd said something ridiculous. Mycroft raised his paper in front of his face to hide the twitching of his lips that threatened to become a real smile.

"Yes, I suppose that means that she'll have to bring him." I answered her. "Since he's still in her tummy."

"When am _I_ going to get a little brother?" Mia asked with a pout. I froze in mid-sip, glancing nervously over at Sherlock to make sure he wasn't watching me. I hadn't told him about the baby yet and I _certainly_ hadn't told Mia. She wouldn't be able to keep the secret long enough for me to be able to make the announcement special for Sherlock.

I wasn't going to say anything in front of company, but later, after everyone had gone and Mia was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson watching cartoons as they always did on Saturday nights, despite the holidays, I would tell him. I worried only because I knew that we would eventually have to move from Baker Street. We only had two bedrooms as it was – Mia's and ours. Sherlock would hate that. The suburbs were his absolute worst nightmare and he made sure that I knew it on a regular basis. Dana and Andrew had already made the transition, which was probably why Sherlock was so opposed to it. He didn't want to be even remotely connected to Andrew in any way, shape, form, or fashion. Andrew felt the same way about him, though he was better about hiding it.

"I don't know, Mia." I hummed, smiling at her despite the doubts swirling around toxically in my mind. "Wish hard. Dream. That's how things happen, right?"

"A dream is a wish your heart makes." She said, reciting _Cinderella_ with a sweet smile on her small face. She was always so happy to be able to make a reference to _any_ Disney movie. All my efforts in turning her into a pint-sized geek were succeeding. The next fandom to tackle would be _Star Wars_ and I was so bound and determined to have her in love with Han Solo by next Christmas that I was already planning our binge-watching schedule.

"Mummy, I had a dream I had a little brother." Mia told me, burrowing into her blanket as she daintily sipped her cocoa. "Does that mean I'll get one?"

"Anything is possible." I answered her, planting a kiss in her curls as I walked into the living room. I took my usual seat in John's chair, realizing with a small frown that the fabric was wearing thin over the springs. As much as Mia jumped around on the furniture – a habit that she refused to allow to be broken – it was bound to tear and be forced into retirement sooner rather than later.

"Then I'll just wish really hard." Mia declared and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh, for God's sake." Mycroft muttered, finally breaking his silence as he tossed down his paper. He was always uncomfortable when the subject of children arose. Of _having_ children, really. His mother had been all over him for the past year about getting married and starting a family of his own; everyone knew because it was all she talked about when we managed to have dinner as a group. Her reasoning was that she wanted more grandchildren when, really, I thought that all she wanted was to see Mycroft happy. "This day is, as usual, unending."

"It's hardly ten in the morning." Sherlock called over to him with a scowl, not wanting his mood to taint Mia's Christmas experience. "I'm sure that you will _find a way_ to muddle through, as always."

Mycroft sighed as Mia began watching him with bated breath, horrified by the thought that he wasn't as happy to be among family as she was. "Of course." He said, mostly to her. Mia grinned and snuggled back into her seat, content for the time being.

I took a distracted sip of my cocoa that resulted in a scalded tongue.

Mia began chatting away to Mycroft, forcing him to give her his undivided attention as I drifted to the fridge to pour myself a cup of water to relieve my burnt tongue.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock murmured in my ear, standing with his hands about my waist as I rummaged through the fridge.

"We need to go to the shop soon." I said, avoiding his question for the time being. "Everything we had went into making dishes for the party today."

"We'll get to it." He promised. "Is there something you feel you should tell me? You seem very…" There was a long pause, as if he was trying to find the words to describe how he felt I was acting. "… _Not_ yourself."

"Since when?"

"Since about five minutes ago." Sherlock answered, still almost whispering as Mia talked on. "When Mia asked about having a sibling."

"Oh. That." I shook my head as I abandoned my endeavor to find water and turned around so that I could put my arms around his neck. With a kiss to the tip of his nose, I attempted to give him a reassuring smile. "No. I'm alright."

Sherlock still didn't look too convinced. "Katherine, really. If there _is_ something you need to say, you ought to say it now before there are too many people here to be able to have a proper conversation."

I glanced at Mia, who had abandoned her blanket and her cocoa and was now practically in Mycroft's lap, showing him the bruise she'd inflicted upon her elbow "abandoning ship." I remembered the incident well and not with much fondness, seeing as how she'd gotten hurt. It had happened a week ago. I had been making dinner, waiting on Sherlock to come back from seeing Molly, and Mia had been jumping around from one piece of furniture to the next. She claimed that she was fighting her way through the EITC battalions that awaited her outside of Shipwreck Cove.

 _That_ had been my own fault for letting her watch _Pirates of the Caribbean_ before she had been in science class long enough to be taught that gravity affects _everyone_ , even pirates. Which was also why I adamantly refused to allow her to watch _Lord of the Rings_ lest she ever find Sherlock's letter opener, which I had hidden out of her reach long ago because of how sharp he insisted on keeping it, and deem herself brave enough to battle orcs in our living room.

She was spinning the colorful tale of how she had received her battle wound in full detail for Mycroft, eyes wide and arms flying about her head in such a convincing manner that I was shocked to see Mycroft actually give in and _smile_.

"You are rarely so quiet." He murmured again, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he became visibly worried.

"I'm thinking, love." I said, tugging on his curls as he had Mia's. "That's all."

Sherlock sighed. "There's nothing…?"

" _Sherlock_."

"I know. I rarely _speak_ so much." He shook his head in resignation. "If you say that I have nothing to worry over, I won't mention it again."

"You have nothing to worry over."

It really was the truth. He had nothing to worry about, even though he really did despise the suburbs. Whatever happened, I knew he would be happy. He'd handled Mia exactly as I expected – _beautifully_. Having another child wouldn't be a challenge for him in the least, I knew that; I was glad of it.

"Mummy remembers!" Mia declared, dragging us from our adult world and back into hers, where the sun was her smile and our every happiness was her laughter. I kissed Sherlock gently and mussed his curls with my hand before walking over to sit down in his chair, snatching up Mia's discarded blanket with fervor as I covered my frozen toes.

"What do I remember?" I asked her.

"How I defeated Bucket."

" _Beckett,_ darling. Cutler Beckett."

"Doesn't matter; I didn't like him anyway." Mia waved her mistake off and turned back to her uncle, who had chuckled briefly despite knowing that Sherlock and I were watching him. It seemed that, for the moment, he didn't mind much. That in itself was profoundly unusual.

Mia had the ability to charm the moodiest and most miserable of human beings with Mycroft being chief among them, though I sometimes thought most of it was just an act. Even so, I never thought I would live to see the day when someone of her size would wiggle their way into his heart.

Sherlock glanced at the clock with a soft growl. "They'll be here in an hour." He called to us, already stalking back to the bedroom so that he could start making himself presentable.

Mia squealed loudly, directly in Mycroft's ear. "Really!?"

"And now I've lost my hearing." Mycroft muttered, scowling marginally as he leaned away from her.

"Yes, sweetheart." I said, standing up. "Do you want to wait until everyone is here to open your presents or start now? Mummy has to run and get ready, so it's up to you."

"Does everybody else get a present?"

"We all exchange them, yes." I told her.

"Then I can wait." Mia paused as she turned thoughtful. "Could I give one of mine to Eli?"

The generosity she held in her heart never ceased to stun me. "How about this?" I reached out for her and she hopped into my arms eagerly, putting her tiny hands on my cheeks as I spoke. "When Eli is born, you and I will go pick out a present for him."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"I love you lots." She said.

"I love you oodles."

"What comes after oodles?"

"Caboodles."

"Oh. I love you caboodles."

"I love you more than most."

"No," Mia protested. "I love you most."

I shook my head with a smile. "That simply isn't possible, my love."

"Anything is possible if you just believe." Mia insisted as I walked her down the hall and plopped her down on her bed with a kiss. "Jiminy Cricket says so."

"Jiminy Cricket never had a little girl." I said. "Aunt Dana will be here soon. Brush your hair for me, and your teeth."

"Do I have to change?"

"Not if you don't want to." I promised, watching as Mia proceeded to hug her shoulders with a shake of her head, grabbing the royal purple fabric of her nightgown in her small, ineffectual fists.

"I want to stay in my pj's."

"Alright."

I walked down the hall, listening to Mia humming to herself as she began picking out a book to read. When I reached our bedroom, I found Sherlock sprawled across the quilt I kept on top of the bed, all knees and elbows and curls. He was already in his suit, but obviously didn't mind wrinkling it before company came.

" _What_ are you doing?" I asked, sighing heavily as I looked him over.

"Sleeping."

"You've slept all morning."

"Yes, but that munchkin of ours awakened the entire street with her screeching." He groaned. "Five minutes more would make me a much better host."

"That's manipulation." I sang, unable to scold him seriously. He tried to bargain with me on a regular basis, practically begging me to allow him to sleep longer. In the years before Mia, he'd stayed up all night playing his violin or pacing the floor – he would do anything but sleep. He hardly ever could. And then, _after_ Mia, though he'd gone from disliking sleep to appreciating the institution in a newly reformed, respectful manner, it was a miracle if he could get an extra five minutes of rest.

"It's the _truth_." Sherlock said, gazing at me as I began digging through the closet to find something to wear. I held up a red blouse with cartoon candy-canes plastered across the collar and considered it halfheartedly before tossing it in the small wicker bin we kept in our room.

"I've always hated that thing." I muttered.

"A gift from Sylvia?"

"No, actually. My mum."

"By all means, toss it." Sherlock agreed, scrunching his nose in disgust. My mum had _the_ worst taste in clothes. Not her own, really, but it was almost like when she tried to buy a gift for someone, something went awry and she seemed disillusioned to what was actually acceptable to buy without insulting the person she bought it for. Like that one friend a person has that never knows what to get them, no matter how long they've known each other, but they always make the smart and safe choice and buy a blanket every year instead.

Dana and I exchanged blankets every Christmas and every birthday.

"You should wear the jumper your mum bought you last year." I told Sherlock as I pulled it off the hanger to toss at him. It landed on his face and he yanked it off with a roll of his eyes.

"If you would let me throw it in the bin, I would."

"It's only a few hours, Sherlock. It would make her happy."

He stared at the knit reindeer face, accentuated by the tree-green fabric of the background, and pushed its nose unhappily, watching as it turned red and began to flash. "How can you ask this of me?"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "I forgot about the nose. Toss it if you want. I wouldn't dare to be so cruel as to make you wear it."

"I remember now why I married you." He reminisced, happily throwing the jumper, which was still dancing with color, into the bin on top of my candy-cane blouse.

"And had babies with me." I said coolly, deciding on a blue cardigan and a pair of black jeans that I'd bought last year.

" _One_." Sherlock said.

"Bab _ies._ " I replied, smirking now.

He stopped. " _ies_?"

"Mmm." I hummed, keeping busy so that he could process the information without feeling like I was waiting for him to exhibit a particular emotion. He didn't like feeling pressured to have a reaction to anything and I wanted him to be able to take his time in grasping what I was saying without becoming upset.

"As in… another?"

"As in another."

When I turned around, I was met with a lopsided grin that nearly swept me off my feet. I smiled back at him, realizing he was gazing at my stomach much as he had when he'd found out about Mia. _Reverently_.

"When did you know?"

"A few weeks ago." I admitted. "I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you."

"And are you?"

I laughed. "Well, I'm telling you, aren't I?"

Sherlock sighed happily and stood from his seat on the bed, walking over to put his arms around me. After a moment of us just standing there, he chuckled into my hair.

"I can't believe we're going to do this all over again."

Mia whooped from her room, giving off a war cry of sorts, before dashing into the living room. Something crashed and broke. Mycroft groaned.

I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping she had broken the ceramic cat my mother had given to us for our second wedding anniversary beyond repair (we both hated it). "I know."

"Which do you want, a boy or a girl?"

"Another girl. Just like Mia."

"God. I'll be in my grave before I make it to forty." Sherlock groused, but there was a lightness in his voice that let me know if that was the case, he wouldn't mind it very much at all.

"I love you." I said.

"As _I_ love _you_."


	2. The Game is Afoot

_**Hi guys! I'm on Thanksgiving break so I finally had time to update! I hope you all are enjoying your time away from school and I hope you like this chapter! Thank you so much for your reviews so far. I hope to be able to read more after chapter two!**_

 _ **-lightinside**_

* * *

Six hours after the arrival of our guests, all had trickled out the door and gone on their way. Everyone but Dana and Andrew, much to Sherlock's dismay. He sat in his chair, Mia in his lap as a welcomed distraction, trying to ignore Andrew's presence without much success. As Dana prattled away happily about the changing table I'd bought her for Christmas (I knew she'd not bought one yet), I stole glances at my husband trying to decipher what was going through his head.

Dana sighed and looked down at her swollen belly. "I wish he'd come on already."

"Are you uncomfortable?" I asked her. "For the last few weeks before I had Mia, I felt like no matter how I sat or laid down or tossed or turned, I could never get comfortable. By the time she decided to grace us with her presence," I winked at Mia who grinned back at me, "I was more than ready for her to be here."

"Were you nervous?"

"Not as much as Sherlock." I said teasingly, glancing at him. He scowled back at me while Mia's attention was on the conversation at hand.

Dana squeezed Andrew's hand as he swallowed thickly. "I don't know. This one might have to be sedated."

"Will not." He muttered, though the fear in his eyes gave him away entirely. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Alright." Dana said with a smirk. "I believe you."

Andrew only sighed, apparently having become familiar with her tone of voice. That was the I-hear-what-you're-saying-but-I-actually-don't-agree, tone of voice. I gazed at the two of them happily, glad that Dana had found someone she could settle down with and glad that Andrew had realized that he deserved much more than I had ever been able to give him. They'd grown closer in the year or so after I married Sherlock. And then, they dated some and before I knew it, Dana couldn't shut up about him. It was Andrew everything – he was the earth, moon, sun, and sky and she could never get enough. I realized in those months that the roles had been reversed. She was the one talking about a guy and I was the one listening. Andrew called me during those months to spout his worries and his doubts, sick at the thought that Dana might wake up one day and change her mind. I knew _that_ feeling well enough to know that most of the time, it never came to fruition.

He must have gotten over that because, suddenly they were engaged and then they were married and now she was three weeks away from having their first child.

Nothing had been easy, though. Not for any of us. In the first two years Sherlock and I were married, we had a rocky start. It seemed like we had just begun to really get used to each other when I was forced to announce Mia's impending arrival. He had still been calculating back then – prone to be distant with me and with his affections if something weighed heavily on his mind. Mia broke him of that in a matter of months.

He had been in and out of meetings with MI6, discussing deals and offering his help so that he might stay out of prison. Putting Moriarty away for a second time was the push that sent him over the edge. Mycroft managed to talk to his colleagues into pardoning Sherlock from his crimes, considering that he'd done most of their jobs for them while hunting down Moriarty, and even pointed out that without Sherlock, he would still be roaming the country.

They didn't much appreciate the fact that Mycroft was practically calling them useless, but conceded to his requests nonetheless.

"Where did your brother go?" I asked Sherlock, realizing that Mycroft was not around with a start. I hadn't heard him complaining in at least an hour. That should have tipped me off right there.

"Left with Molly." He said with a shrug, distracted by Mia's blinding smile as she played with his hands as a way of keeping herself busy without actually having to leave his lap. One day, he would teach her how to play the violin. She had the hands for it, I could see that much already. It was if he had the patience to teach her that I really wondered about.

"And Thatcher?"

"Called into work."

"Working on Christmas." Dana harrumphed. "It's hardly right."

"He's a surgeon." I told her. "And, believe me, there isn't a busier time in the hospital or the clinic than on Christmas or New Year's." I glanced at Mia and then discreetly made a gesture as if I were drinking something. Dana nodded, understanding my meaning immediately, though she found it immensely funny that I had refrained from saying it aloud.

She laughed, something which confused Mia. "You've turned into such a mum." Dana said, wiping her eyes as if I'd sent her into hysterics.

I looked at her pointedly. "Don't worry. You don't have that far to go. And then you'll understand _exactly_ what it's like."

Mia yawned loudly and settled her head under Sherlock's chin with a sigh. Sherlock smirked and glanced at me before scooping her up in his arms and standing from his seat.

"Someone needs a nap." He mused lowly, in a voice meant only for her ears.

"'M not sleepy." Mia insisted in a lazy slur, even as her eyes closed and she settled into his embrace. "I want to stay with you."

"I won't be far." He told her as he carried her down the hall to her room. "I will never be too far away from you, little one."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

As Dana reacted cheerily to how much Sherlock had visibly changed with the arrival of our little girl, I thought back to when Mia had been about three. Maybe four. All I could remember about the night I was pondering over was that Sherlock and I had been laughing at the dinner table over something that was probably not even that funny, but that had never really mattered. We laughed more when we were together, not because things were funny, but because we were happy. And that night, I could remember being happy and I could remember Mia, her round, rosy cheeks stretched into the biggest of smiles, looking up at us. We danced that night around the living room, Mia and I. Sherlock had spun out a tune for us on his violin, one so lively that I couldn't help but spin Mia around and around.

She asked my later that night as I tucked her into bed if I loved Sherlock. And when I told her I did, she asked me what it was like.

"Crazy." I told her, smoothing her curls back onto her pillow. "Wonderful."

"Wonderful?" She asked with that blindingly brilliant smile of hers. "Even when you're mad?"

"Even when I'm mad."

"Why?"

"You'll see someday."

"When I'm older?"

I laughed. " _Much_ older. One day, when you grow up you'll meet someone you can't live without."

"But you lived without Daddy for a long time."

"I did." I murmured. "But after I met him, things were different."

"How?"

I kissed her nose and tucked the covers up around her chin. "I'll tell you one day."

"When is one day?"

"When you're older."

She'd sighed at that and then proceeded to tell me that she was four whole years old and that she was plenty old enough to know things. I hoped for Dana's sake that Eli was just like Mia. She needed that – that endless insistence amidst boundless love.

"Katherine?" Dana's voice yanked me back to the present. "Are you tired? Should we go?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. Are you staying with your mum?"

Dana pursed her lips in begrudging agreement. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Dana." Andrew chided, frowning at her disapprovingly. "Come on."

"You've met the woman." Dana said. "I feel no need to defend myself. You know how intolerable she is." She turned to me. "Well, _you_ do. I know you know. We practically lived at each other's houses all throughout secondary school."

"And then came Uni and we were able to escape." I said, laughing. "Of course I remember."

"You were so prim and proper all throughout Uni." Dana said, rolling her eyes. "It was absolutely annoying. I would always ask you to go out, to go to a movie, to _have fun._ No, you would say, I have to study. You lived on lattes and energy bars for the first eight months of our first year."

Andrew chuckled. "And then what did you live on?"

I shrugged. "As far as I can remember, ramen noodles and leftover Chinese."

"Her mum used to send her these care packages full of toothpaste and these horrible, matching white socks and back issues of _People_ magazine." Dana remembered, giggling so fitfully that tears began squeezing from the corners of her eyes. As I watched her recount the past, I was in stitches, too. Andrew could only shake his head and smile – he couldn't fully appreciate the stories because he hadn't lived them. "And John would always send her one box every month, containing one box of Oreos, a book he thought she should read, and a letter." She wiped at her eyes. "Did you ever read those books, by the way?"

"During the summers, I did." I said, smiling as I thought about John and his thoughtful care packages. "Twelve books a year. And I always loved every one he sent me."

Dana nodded. "They _were_ good. I read a few after I thought you'd gone through them."

"I know." I said, scowling at her. "You dog-eared the pages."

"You don't do that?" Dana asked.

"Never, not once in my life. I can't believe you never knew that."

"Excuse me, I don't really make it a habit to peruse people's bookmarking habits." Dana replied sassily, though her good humor was evident in her tone. "And books are meant to be _read_ , Kat. Not revered."

"Eat something and stop talking." I said. Dana was in mid-laugh when Sherlock came back in the room. He smiled briefly at me and sat down, thumbing through the messages on his mobile. Something was different that before he'd left. He seemed distracted now. Bothered, even.

Dana saw something in my face that alerted her to my sudden sense of worry. She faked a fairly convincing yawn and stretched lightly before patting Andrew's thigh.

"Time to go."

He shot her a questioning look. "Did we not just decide to stay a little longer?"

" _Time to go,_ love." She repeated again, eyeing Sherlock pointedly even though he was oblivious to the exchange. He was staring at something on his mobile, as if it confounded him. Andrew followed her gaze and nodded his head.

"Thanks for having us, Katherine." He said, standing from his seat before helping Dana up from hers.

"The party was great." Dana enthused, hugging my neck as well as she could. "I only wish everybody could have stayed a little longer. It was really nice to be able to see your dad. Tell him I'll drop by before we go back to Seattle, will you? Say goodbye."

"Sure." I said. Andrew hugged my neck. "Bye, you guys. Get back to your mum's alright."

"It's not getting back to the flat that's the problem." Dana called as they descended the stairs. "It's _surviving_ the next four days!"

I closed the door with a shake of my head and turned to Sherlock.

"Everything alright?" I asked him.

"Mmm. Yes. Fine."

I watched him warily, desperate not to push him into telling me what it was that was consuming him in such a way. So, I busied myself with the dishes. And then I folded clothes. And then I straightened the couch cushions and checked on Mia, who was snoring away in her room as soundly as she had been when Sherlock put her there.

I changed back into my pajamas and read three chapters of one of the books John had sent me in my University days before tossing it down with a sigh. I came to the realization that I was not and would _never_ be that wife. I couldn't keep quiet when I saw something was wrong. I couldn't stay out of Sherlock's business, his wrath be damned if I should awaken it by some stretch of the imagination.

I walked back into the living room. "It's not fine."

Sherlock looked up from his mobile. "What?"

"You told me earlier that things are fine and they're not." I was trying to keep my voice low so as not to wake Mia, but it was proving difficult. "What's happening?"

He sighed. "Nothing, Katherine. Nothing we need to discuss yet."

"What does that mean? Yet?" I asked him. "Do I need to ask Mycroft? Or Lestrade, even? Is that why he left here so quickly?"

"Katherine."

" _Sherlock_."

"The issue is miniscule. If I were you, I wouldn't deem it worth my time to worry over."

"If it was 'so miniscule' then why on earth have you been sitting in here for the last hour and a half staring at your mobile like the whole bloody world was falling to pieces?" I badgered, unable to stop myself long enough to calm down. Sherlock was very tolerant of my anxiety at this point – he'd had to learn how to be. He just watched me wearily and shook his head before holding out his mobile to show me a picture on it.

A crime scene photo.

It was horrific – sloppy and unrestrained. But above all of the things that I was seeing, something in particular managed to catch my eye almost immediately. Etched on the wall in the background, written in blood above the victim's head in a steady scrawl, were the words: "Tick tock goes the clock. Your time is running out, Sherlock."

My breath caught in my throat as I held the mobile in my now trembling hand before I lowered myself into a chair. I finally tore my eyes away from the horror in front of me and looked up at my husband.

" _This_ is what you think of as _miniscule_?" I hissed, trying to clear my head of the white noise that nipped at my ears. "Someone is threatening you. Do you know who?"

"Not at present." He said. "But that is the third in a string of murders that began two months ago. Lestrade was called away from the party to go to that very crime scene. He sent me the photo upon his arrival."

I clicked out of the screen, purposefully avoiding looking at the picture again before handing him back his mobile. "They must be doing this to get your attention, whoever they are."

Sherlock pocketed his mobile, nodding thoughtfully. "It seems that way."

My stomach clenched as I stared at him, the image I'd just seen flashing faintly behind my open eyes. I blinked hard, trying to rid myself of it entirely. "Sherlock…"

"I think I should take the case." He told me suddenly.

" _No_."

Sherlock jerked his head up to look at me, almost startled by my adamant refusal. "Katherine."

"You have a child now." I reminded him. "And another one on the way. Whether or not you would stay away from this case for me, you need to consider Mia. Whoever this is leaving you messages, they obviously are _trying_ to draw you in. It's a game. One that I am _begging_ you not to play. I haven't seen something like this since…"

"Moriarty." Sherlock answered. "Yes, I know."

"Could it be him? Not _him_ , but one of his followers, maybe?"

"No." He told me, seeming to be absolutely sure of his answer. "Mycroft has eyes on him always. He is no longer allowed visitors, lest his network make a sudden recovery."

"What do you mean, no longer allowed visitors?" I asked. "What led to that?"

"It was not so much a 'what' as a 'who'. A certain woman by the name of Irene Adler."

I raised an eyebrow, thinking desperately as the name struck a chord in the dustier regions of my memories. "Adler… the _dominatrix_? Wasn't she at the center of those political scandals that happened several years ago?"

Sherlock nodded. "She made _friends_ with Moriarty when she had in her possession a very imaginative range of compromising photos featuring a young woman of great importance to the British Monarchy. He wanted the photos for himself. Whether or not he achieved his goal, I never did know. It seems that the photos disappeared. Probably something to do with my brother."

I chewed my bottom lip thoughtfully. "Sherlock… _she_ couldn't have… do you think?"

He merely looked at me, as calm and cool as ever. "You think Irene Adler to be the murderer?"

"Not necessarily. But could she not have orchestrated it all?" I asked. "Moriarty is now indisposed. She could very well take it upon herself to shuffle the cards and stir trouble for you if she felt so inclined…" I shook my head and rose from my seat. "It's ridiculous. Never mind me."

As I walked back into the kitchen to finish putting the leftover food into the fridge, Sherlock called out to me.

"I won't do anything without consulting you first. For Mia."

"For Mia." I agreed quietly.

But even so, even with that small bit of reassurance, I couldn't get that image out of my head. Sherlock's time was apparently running out. But who was winding the hands of the clock, no one knew. I listened to him rise from his chair and make his way downstairs, grabbing his coat from the rack before dialing Lestrade on his mobile.

He was still talking as the front door shut behind him.


End file.
